blink
by winteredspark
Summary: /"I hope for your sake that you can find a crack of humanity to restrain yourself." The silence persists and he knows Stefan is digesting his hidden threat. "And why is that?" Stefan wonders uneasily./Or, the Salvatore brothers discuss the events of 3x11.


**title: **blink

**pairings: **delena, mentions of stelena

**a/n: **If you're expecting a heart-felt scene between Damon and Elena, you're not going to get it. This will focus mainly around Stefan and Damon's bond as brothers, with little hints of 3x11 sprinkled in. Reviews are welcome. I know that I keep writing scenes about how Stefan and Elena are done, how the new is moving in while the old crowds out, but I hope that this is a little different, nothing concise, because who wants the end? We all just want a little more to the story, is all, and I hope that I provided that well here.

* * *

><p>"You shouldn't be here."<p>

"It so happens that I live here," Damon quips as he enters what could be considered as the office in the Salvatore mansion. They've been living for long enough where labeling rooms becomes more of a trifling affair than an actual help.

"If you're here to lecture me about nearly killing Elena, I don't want to hear it," Stefan begins, eyes darkening. He straightens his back subconsciously as his body peels away from the shadowed wall in the back.

"Can't a man just have a drink with his brother in peace?" Damon wonders, pulling two glasses from the cabinet beside the shelf of bottles filled with ruby and gold liquid. "Let's see...brandy? We've got a nice 1972 Vermouth here in the back, guess I forgot about that. Or I could make you one of my personal favorites." Damon waggles his eyebrows and smirks.

"Surprise me," decides Stefan, smiling emotionlessly. "So long as you're not planting stakes in my glass."

Damon laughs, "Honestly, brother. Do you not trust me at all?"

"I have plenty of reasons to distrust you," Stefan says, his smile growing more and more frozen by the second. "I suppose I'd deserve a stake to the gut."

"You would," Damon says over his shoulder, reaching up to grab a bottle of honey and a bag of brown sugar from the back of the cabinet. "So, we got Klaus to blink, thanks to myself."

"Thanks to you?" Stefan barks a laugh, making his way over to the couch and sinking down, crossing his legs. "The only reason Klaus blinked is thanks to Elena's pretty little screams."

Damon's jaw clenches, brown eyes flashing down to concentrate on the drinks. He splashes some cloudy liquid from one of the bottles on the shelf into the two clear glasses, squirts a generous portion of honey into both, then runs them under tap water. After stirring them for a minute, he adds a pinch of brown sugar to both, then plops cherries on top.

"It so happens that I found Klaus and told him how unpredictable you were, how he should give into your demands." Damon walks over, hands Stefan one of the glasses. When Stefan gives the glass a distrustful look, Damon adds, "Don't judge it until you try it, Mr. Uptight."

Predictably, Stefan sits up and clears his throat, "I'll have you know that I've loosened up a lot."

Damon first banishes the instinct to laugh, then sobers as he looks at his brother. Things have changed so much. They've practically switched personalities, and now Damon has to be the one watching what he says while Stefan gets to rip throats out and be Mr. Better Villain. However, his little brother also has to deal with the insecurity of the merciless, the need to be emotionless while the heart yearns for something more; the wondering if redemption is possible. Damon remembers those horrible feelings, the way he'd nearly want to kill his brother every time he saw how self-assured and happy he was.

"You skipped 'loosened up' and went right to 'I don't play by the rules," Damon says, taking a sip of his drink. "Go on, try it."

Stefan takes a sip and his face screws up. "I don't play by the rules?" he chokes out, swallowing. He takes another sip.

"Okay," Damon admits, "you might have brushed 'psycho-maniac.' Don't blame me for using euphemisms. I just know how fragile you are." The last part comes out a bit mockingly.

Stefan rolls his eyes, takes a smaller sip. "What is this?"

"Honey wine, a la Damon," Damon answers with a cocky smile. "You like?"

"You tampered with this," Stefan accuses, taking a fourth sip. A little mead dribbles down his chin.

"I made it _better_," Damon says, shaking his head. "I find that adding brown sugar adds a bit of a rough texture nothing else can duplicate."

Stefan pauses, downs the rest of his glass. Then he smacks his lips, says, "I think I'm more of a Jack Daniels kind of guy."

"There's no pleasing you," Damon mutters, heading back to rinse out his glass. Once he's scrubbed the brown sugar from the bottom, he fills it up with bourbon and takes a sip, sighing happily. This is his kind of drink.

Stefan's eyes follow his brother about the room, "When are you going to say it?"

"Say what?" Damon dances around the issue easily, taking another sip of bourbon and hoping that he'll lose himself faster than usual. Normally it takes him several glasses before he's even feeling a buzz - thanks to years of drinking - but tonight he doesn't think he'd like to remain coherent, let alone conscious.

"I'm waiting for the lecture you've probably been stewing over for hours," Stefan says, "though that is more my style."

"_Was_ your style," Damon corrects. "Villains don't lecture."

Stefan glares at him, "Well?"

Damon hesitates, takes another sip. "Let's just enjoy the night," he offers at last, raising his glass in the air. "I probably have a case of Jack Daniels in the fridge if you're interested."

"And of course you're not going to get it for me," Stefan mutters, rising to his feet.

"You know me so well," Damon croons in a voice way too high to sound good on him. He refills his glass and stumbles over to the couch, plops down. A little bourbon splashes on the black of his long sleeved shirt.

Reaching into the mini-fridge, Stefan pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels, pops off the top. "I'm waiting for you to chew me out for nearly killing Elena," he says after he's chugged down half the bottle. Another swig and the bottle is nearly empty. "After all, you are in love with her."

"No need to sound condescending," Damon slurs. "She's not your girl anymore, and I've made it clear from the start how I feel about her." He stretches up and looks at his brother pleadingly, asks, "You game to bring me the bourbon?"

"I should say no," Stefan mumbles, but he hands the bottle to his brother anyways. "How did Elena get home, anyways?"

"Somehow she stomped through the forest and found one of those out-of-the way farmhouses, 'cept these people actually had a phone." Damon fills up his glass and smiles to himself as his vision blurs a little bit. Thank God for the nights when he's a light-weight. "When I heard her sobbing into the phone I - but you don't care about her anymore. I forgot. My bad." Damon eyes his brother for a second, watching him try to control the emotions and put on the blank, cruel face he wears now.

"I'm surprised you're not over there with her right now," Stefan says quietly, looking dangerous. "She's probably afraid I'll break in and turn her at any moment."

Damon shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, "She doesn't want me over there right now. I left Alaric to tend to her cuts and told him to keep one hand on his pistol at all times." He knows that he shouldn't feel hurt that Elena doesn't want him there to protect her right this minute, but his humanity continues to wreck havoc on his heart.

"Doesn't want you?" Stefan laughs harshly, his face screaming anything but happiness. "I thought she was in love with you."

"Elena's never going to think this thing between me and her is alright as long as she's hurting over you," Damon says, meeting his brother's gaze and holding it. He takes a slow sip of his drink.

"She's not -"

"Just stop it," Damon snaps, snarling under his breath as he tries to rein in his temper. "You and I both know that Elena loves you. So just give that act of yours a goddamn break."

Stefan doesn't speak for a minute, then he sips his drink in a relaxed manner as though they're speaking of tea parties and rainbows. "Soon enough she'll hate me," he says.

"Always the martyr, aren't we, Stefan?" Damon hisses. "But you're right. If you keep things up like nearly killing her in the same place her parents died, she will hate you, and you'll be the most miserable man alive."

Smiling in that irritatedly smug manner, Stefan raises his glass and says, "But, brother, I'm not alive."

Damon forces his temper back again, draining his glass and swiping his tongue along the edge to catch every last drop. He's not sure what hurts him more in the moment: the fact that Stefan is willing to hurt Elena, kill her even, whenever he deems it helpful to his little plan; or the fact that he's lost his compassion and the masochism that's marked him since he was young. He nearly misses the old Stefan who would mope around the house the moment he said something to annoy or hurt Elena. Nearly, but not quite. Things are a bit more exciting now, he can admit.

"If I may," Damon begins as he places his glass to the side, instantly missing the comforting feel of it between his fingers. "When did you stop loving Elena?"

Stefan looks like he's going to pounce on his brother, but he quickly draws into himself. "I thought we weren't going to talk about this," he growls.

Damon shrugs, "I'm just your curious, friendly neighborhood vampire. Give me answers or I pounce." He jokingly bares his fangs.

"You do know that I'm stronger than you, right?" Stefan asks, tilting his head to the side.

"It was a _joke_." Damon gets up as his feet begin to tingle and nearly loses his balance. He has to grip the edge of the couch to keep from falling. "But thank you for confirming that you do, in fact, still love her."

Stefan's eyes get wide, "I alluded to nothing of the sort."

"Everything you didn't say told me what I needed to know," Damon says, tapping his head. "I don't often use my intuition, but when I do, I come to fantastic conclusions."

"Let's not be corny," Stefan says, smiling flatly. "I don't want to be with her anymore. Klaus made it impossible for me to care."

Damon smirks, "And there is your fatal mistake, brother. You are no longer under Klaus' compulsion and thus _do_ in fact have a hold on your humanity. No matter if you want to be with Elena or not. You still love her."

"Are you trying to discourage me or cheer me on?" Stefan asks, eyes fighting the thousands of emotions flooding through him at the same time.

Damon approaches his brother with glass in hand, setting it on the table before opening his mouth to speak. "I just hope you have a hold on your humanity," he says lightly. Patting his brother's cheek, he turns and prepares to totter up the stairs to bed. He smiles as the silence persists, knowing that Stefan is probably digesting Damon's hidden threat.

"And why is that?" Stefan wonders a bit cockily. The uneasiness in his eyes speaks otherwise, however.

Damon meets his brother's gaze in the gloom of the room, says matter-of-factly, "If you try to hurt Elena again, I will kill you. So I hope for your sake that you can find a hint of common sense, a crack of humanity to restrain yourself."

"Are you trying to make me blink, brother?" Stefan asks with a little laugh. His lips quiver just barely, revealing a hint of his old remorse and self-preservation. "If you are, it's not going to work. We're family, and not only could you never bring yourself to harm me, you clearly owe me."

Damon's smile droops a little with exhaustion. He's tired of playing these cat and mouse games with his brother, having to think about his words to make sure there aren't any hidden inneudos or barbs.

"You'll blink," Damon says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He places his right foot on the step in front of him and adds, "My brother would have wanted me to get rid of him the second he ever became like this. He never would have wanted to become a monster, hurt innocent people and the girl that he loves. My real brother, not the Stefan standing here, would rather be _dead_ than ever live as a monster."

He may play games, may live with a constant impenetrable smirk on his face, but this is the root of it all. This is the only reason Damon was able to remain strong in those months after his brother left town, leaving behind him a distraught Elena. This is the only reason he was able to slide out of bed each morning, keep his eyes open and fight. Because while he professes to be lazy and wary of any kind of faith, he has this little niggling thought that Stefan is still in there somewhere; if Damon hunts for long enough, tries for long enough, he'll find him. He has to, because he knows that if he doesn't, he'll end up driving a stake through his brother's heart. He doesn't know if he could recover from something like that.

Stefan's face is a blank slate the last time Damon looks at it. He knows that his brother will probably be mulling over this conversation all night long and there's no use waiting up for him. Besides, he's exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Damon is actually smiling to himself as he drags himself up the stairs, something he hasn't done in God knows how long. Why?

There is a roaring in his ears, a keening scream coming from the edge of the forest; the catch in a voice, a hint of a familiar sob.

Stefan just blinked.


End file.
